


Going Over Home

by coricomile



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Deal with a Devil, Gen, M/M, Rites of Passage, Trope Bingo Round 6
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-24
Updated: 2016-02-24
Packaged: 2018-05-22 23:13:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6097121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coricomile/pseuds/coricomile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sidney is alone more than he is not, dancing in the snow on knives. Even though he is alone, he smiles. His smile is blinding, pure and sweet enough to chase away some of the anger It still feels. It follows the child and lets Itself be healed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Going Over Home

**Author's Note:**

> Third story for my simultaneous line in trope bingo for the rites of passage/coming of age and deal with the devil squares. Creative license on those have been taken and run with. I listened a good deal to [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8aZIo8bnLoA) version of Wayfaring Stranger while writing this. Clearly, I am offering Hockey fandom nothing. Have some weird AUs. Eventually I'll write weird/kinky porn.

It watches. The world is bright and shining and new, thousands of years old but still an infant in comparison to It. It has seen creatures come into existence and then blink out, empires of men rise and fall and rise again. It has seen. It has heard. 

It lives in the corners of the world, formless and mouthless and ancient. It doesn't know when It came into existence, or how, or when It too will fade completely into the darkness. It watches, It listens, It waIts. 

The humans are interesting. It thinks they can see It, sometimes. There are a few that stare at the empty space It inhabIts, eyes wide and mouths open in fear. It does not want to hurt them. It doesn't think It could if It ever tried. Its being is not real, not the same as theirs. 

So many humans come and go. It watches them change, become taller and louder and angrier. There are wars. So many wars. So much blood spread into the ground, warm and pulsing and thick. It feels the anger in Its being, soaked up from being so close. It hates, and It hates the humans for making It feel this way. 

Not all of them are bad. There is a king that bleeds for his people, strong and stubborn and so good. There is a woman that leads a band of children away from a fire at the cost of her own life. There is a child-

There is a child named Sidney. He is small and weak, his skin too thin for the winter that he lives in. It does not feel cold. It does not feel heat or touch or anything at all, but It knows that red on humans is never good. 

Sidney is alone more than he is not, dancing in the snow on knives. Even though he is alone, he smiles. His smile is blinding, pure and sweet enough to chase away some of the anger It still feels. It follows the child and lets Itself be healed. 

The child grows. He is still alone, he still dances in the snow and plays games very seriously, but the smile- the sweet, sweet smile- has faded into something dim. It misses the smile. For the first time in eternIty, It wishes It could help. It wishes It could interfere instead of just watch. 

Sidney leaves the cold and It follows. It lives in the cramped space of Sidney's room, hiding in the corners as Sidney becomes smaller and smaller and his game- his hockey- takes over his life. It thinks the boy that lives in the room with Sidney can see It. He stares sometimes, watching It hover, but he never says a word to Sidney. 

Humans have always been interesting, but they have also always been cruel. It watches boys humiliate Sidney, watches them call him names and shove him and hurt him because of a _game_. It hates, uglier than ever. Sidney cries some nights when the boy that lives with him is away. It tries to curl around him, tries to offer him protection and warmth and happiness, but It does not belong in Sidney's world. It can give him nothing. 

Sidney does not stay at the school long. It follows him back to the cold. Sidney is still yelled at, is still pushed and pinched and hit with sticks, but he holds his head high and smiles a smile that is not happy at all. It curls around him every night, expanding Itself over the child's growing body and willing him to be happy again. 

Sidney grows. He stays in the cold and becomes the best at his game. Sometimes he travels and It travels with him, curled up in a pocket. It learns to love the ice the same way Sidney does. It thinks if It had a body, It would like to dance with Sidney there. 

When Sidney leaves the cold again, he is vibrant. He glows with the joy It hasn't seen since Sidney was a child. He is the best and everyone can see. It feels- pride. It thinks this is pride. Sidney wears black and gold, dark colors from a dark place, but he is a fire inside them. 

Time means nothing to It. Time is changing cItyscapes and grooves worn into rock by tenacious rivers, ages passed in moments. It's time with Sidney feels precious for the shortness. Sidney will pass as all others have passed and It will remain. That is a thing It cannot change, no matter how much It wants things to be different. 

Sidney is hurt on the ice. His dance is cut short, and It wails without words when Sidney does not stand. It winds around Sidney and pulls, sinks Itself into the tender, weak flesh and tries to make him whole. Time means nothing to It, but It is not willing to let go just yet. 

When Sidney stands, when he limps away with his head in his hands, It clings to him. It clings to him through prodding and questions and soft words. It clings to him when Mario- a good man that makes Sidney safe- takes Sidney home and puts him into the dark. It clings to him when Sidney cries.

It has always lived in the dark. The dark is where It belongs, but Sidney belongs in the light. To see him curled up unmoving and silent and sad makes It ache. Sidney is still hurt, and It can do nothing. 

Sometimes, Sidney stares at It. He has never seen It before, but sometimes he stares and almost smiles. It thinks whatever happened to Sidney's head might have changed him. It worries. Sidney, Its Sidney, was finally happy and now he is not. 

It wishes. It wishes for Sidney's joy. It wishes It could touch, could feel. Could help. It wishes with everything It is to hold Sidney, just once, in the world that is not Its. 

The darkness seems to expand or It shrinks. It cannot tell. It thinks there is a voice calling to It, but It has no name, has nothing that could call It. Its being shrinks and grows and warps, moves away from Sidney and draws closer like It's breathing. 

Sidney opens his eyes and It feels something in Its- in Its chest. One big hand rises, touches the gentle curve of Sidney's cheek. It can feel the warmth there, the softness of the skin. He smiles, bright and happy and as sweet as a child.

"I always knew you were there," he whispers. He touches Its hand, Its face. It feels eternIty sliding away from It. If that is the cost for It to have this moment, It will gladly pay. It has lived long enough. "You've been with me forever."

"I watch," It says. Its voice is real and solid and as dark as the place It had come from. Words are clumsy in Its mouth, Its tongue so new and unpracticed. 

"I was never alone because of you," Sidney says. It's chest aches, but It feels- happy. This is happy. "What do I call you?"

"Geno," It- he says. "I- Geno."

"Geno," Sidney repeats. and It-he- _Geno_ pulls him into a hug. Sidney's warm and solid and so alive in his arms. "I'm glad to finally meet you."

Geno watches and Sidney is joyful again.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to come hang out at my [tumblr](http://notyourlovesong.tumblr.com)


End file.
